


spilling midnight

by cakecakecake



Category: Bloodstained: Ritual of the Night
Genre: Angst and Porn, Atonement - Freeform, Bad Flirting, Blood Drinking, Canon Compliant, Choking, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Violence, Debts Repaid, Dry Humping, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Hair-pulling, Hand-Wavy Vampire Lore, Kissing, Low Grade Monster Fucking, Makeup Sex, Master/Slave, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Older Man/Younger Woman, Role Reversal, Spoilers, Teasing, Trust Issues, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: “i’m not afraid,” she assures him, and he has no reason not to believe her --“but you should be,” he tells her, almost inaudible. “because we are very alone, and i am very,veryhungry.”





	1. Chapter 1

Miriam comes back to the library.

To pillage his shelves once again, he presumes. (Wrongly). He smells her before he even hears her footfalls: an overripe, ambrosial scent that hangs heavy in the air around him. Pungent. (Tempting.) He doesn’t lift his head when he hears her push the doors open. She stops halfway inside the hall, taking a guilty stance before the davenport. Arms tucked behind her back, head tilted downward as the fall of her hair shades her eyes -- curiously and uncharacteristically demure.

She must want something. 

“I don’t have anything new, I’m afraid,” he says curtly, breaking the silence.

“I’m not here to read.”

He arches a brow. “Then what is it you seek?”

“Your forgiveness, OD.” It’s far from any answer he could have expected, but it’s the one she gives to him as she moves closer, sure-footed and undaunted. 

He sighs, breathing out a hollow laugh as he removes the wired glasses and jester’s nose even though they’re all that’s hiding how flustered he feels. He’s not _truly_ over his defeat, but he does suppose he can stop sulking about it. As much as he’d rather not discuss his crowning moment of shame in the glacial tomb, he could at least put her mind at ease with reassurance. “There is nothing to forgive, Mistress. I admit I was rather _melodramatic_ regarding my loss -- "

“OD, I thought I’d _killed_ you,” she contests him, but he waves her off, droning on and dripping sarcasm.

“It was a fool’s errand to challenge you, I deserved it.” 

“No, don’t you understand, OD?” she asks him desperately, worry creasing her brow. “I’ve done you wrong, and I wish to make it right.” 

Oh -- she actually feels bad about all this. 

Interest piqued, OD quickly finds his frustration quelled as he searches Miriam’s earnest gaze. Perhaps he’d been unfair -- he hadn’t exactly given her the chance to atone for stealing his books. She hadn't started the fight, only finished it. He'd lashed out prematurely; who's to say she hadn't planned to return his belongings from the beginning? She _did_ come back…

Resting his chin in his hand, he considers her. If she’s going to be so tenacious, he supposes he can humor her. He beckons her closer with a curl of his fingers.

“How.”

It’s hardly question, but the answer would come quite clearly in a swift flick of her wrist. 

OD freezes. He finds no voice to protest as he watches the clasp of her collar quickly become unfastened. There’s a slipping sound of silk sliding along skin as the bib shielding half her chest slides off, revealing to him all the glorious temptation of her naked, slender neck. 

OD hears himself make some awkward noise he doesn’t even recognize -- something between a cough and a chortle that makes the corners of Miriam’s lips quirk. “What are you…”

With wordless certitude, Miriam would climb atop the bureau, shoving aside stacks of books and ink bottles to make room to sit. Focused entirely on the shock of his wide-eyed stare, she lets her legs dangle off the edge, spread wide enough for him to notice the absence of her modest bloomers. His eyes are drawn up only when she leans forward, brushing her hair aside to bare her throat to him. 

“Miriam…” OD draws in a trembling breath, his focus torn from the dip in her collarbone to the stretch of skin beneath her ear, to her sparkling jewelry catching the candlelight. The magi-crystals protruding from her flesh reflect the flickering flames, sending shimmering colors dancing in waves across her comely face. Like something out of a dream.

He wets his mouth, the sudden dryness making speech difficult.

“Have you any idea what you’re doing, offering such a thing to me?” he mutters through gritted teeth. 

“Nothing else I could give would mean as much," she tells him, unwavering, true and confident.

OD groans, brazenly grabbing a fistful of her hair, relishing the little whine he draws out of her. He presses his forehead against hers, eyes heavy and hazy. (She smells _so_ good.) “I could tear your throat out. I could drink you dry…” 

But she would only smirk back at him, now very much like herself. “But you won’t, will you.” 

He tightens his grip on the back of her head. (Not so much a warning, but a test.) “You trust me that much?”

“About as much as you trust me with your library,” she quips, and he laughs, gruffly.

“Not very much, then.” 

“If forgiveness is unneeded, then I want to at least make things even,” she breathes out, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She’s flushed entirely pink, from her ears to the swell of her breasts. He can see the pulse flutter in her neck. It makes him _ache_.

“And _this_ ,” he starts, almost completely hoarse, “is your idea of even?”

“You put your life in my hands, it’s only fair I do the same,” she answers sternly. She’s made her choice, then. She is immovable and impossibly stubborn, and yet she still asks out of politeness, “Please, OD?”

Releasing his hold on her, OD leans back in his seat, trailing his eyes over the vision before him.

Never in the four-hundred years he’d walked this earth had he been extended such a gracious offer. To have a human offer herself willingly was practically unheard of, an act of generosity that only ever existed in erotic fantasies. Such an opportunity would likely never arise for him again -- but he shouldn’t exploit her kindness, shouldn’t subject her to such a danger. Their struggle in the tomb had been different, a tug of war with magical prowess and brute strength. Both in which she far surpasses him. But here, she is only a human, defenseless against timeless vampiric bloodlust…

“Please,” she asks of him again, brows knit together pitifully. Pink lips pressed together in an exasperatingly irresistible pout. She’s immorally beautiful and he despises it, hates that only one more look in her doleful eyes makes the decision for him. 

He would indulge her, only for a few moments, just long enough to pacify her infuriating inclination to do right by others -- but the longer he listens to her expectant, erratic breathing, the less he believes in his ability to maintain his self-control. 

So he learns forward again, close enough to speak against her lips. “Tell me to stop.” 

Her lashes flutter, beating butterfly wings. “OD?” 

“Too much,” he starts, raspy and dark, “and it will be...difficult, for me to hold back.”

“I’m not afraid,” she assures him, and he has no reason not to believe her. 

“But you should be,” he tells her, almost inaudible. “Because we are very alone, and I am very, _very_ hungry.” 

Miriam accurately interprets this confession as an invitation to scramble into his lap as fast as she can. OD hisses, groaning at the pleasant weight of her crushed against his chest, catching his fingers in the tangle of her hair. Shuddering in his grasp, she tucks in her knees on either side of his hips as he buries his face in the crook of her neck. He swipes his tongue along the length of it, feeling her blood humming beneath her skin as she groans his name, pulling at his ponytail. 

“Please,” she almost begs him, “kiss me again.” 

Tentatively, he meets her open mouth with a soft touch, capturing her lips in a tame kiss to start with. It’s too late to worry that his teeth will hurt her, given what he's about to do, but he’d like to avoid drawing blood in more than one place if he could. But Miriam keeps parting her mouth, inviting his tongue to roll along hers, and he craves to know the taste of it too much to ignore it any longer. Minding his fangs as best he can, he sucks on her bottom lip and her hips jerk in response, pressing harder into his pelvis. His chest is tightening, strings pulling taut as his hands find her waist, digging his nails into her sides -- suddenly he has more on his mind than just feeding, but if he wants this to progress, he must first eat. 

“Miriam,” he growls, and she reluctantly pulls back, licking her rouged lips. “Remember, tell me to stop.” 

“I will,” she promises him. She tosses her head back, once again opening her neck for him. He dips his head down to caress her there again, her pulse thumping wildly under his lips. OD swallows anxious spit. 

Slowly, he plants a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her throat, prolonging the bite; suddenly apprehensive. He thinks of the very first time a human pierced the drums of his ears with a petrified shriek when he sank his teeth into them, and of how quickly it’s dawning on him that he has no wish to make Miriam feel afraid like that. 

Granted, Miriam is no ordinary human, having brought horrors of demons much stronger than he to their knees, and yet. And yet -- 

“I will tell you when to stop,” she assures him, as if she can read his thoughts. OD shudders, pulling on a fistful of her hair as his lips tremble. “You won’t hurt me, I won’t let you. I promise you, OD.” 

He watches her eyes darken before she closes them again, her thick lashes painting dark shadows across the height of her cheekbones as she tilts her head again, waiting patiently for him to fulfill her wish. Dropping his jaw, OD shuts his eyes, dips his head down, and _bites_.


	2. Chapter 2

Miriam makes hardly a sound when his fangs tear into her skin. 

There’s a stifled, gasping breath as she goes near rigid in his embrace -- her head lolls on her side as the grip on his shoulders loosens. Struck worried, OD nearly immediately retracts his canines, almost regretting opening his mouth at all -- until he feels her fingers entwined in the gather of his long tresses, giving him an encouraging tug. He can’t see her from this angle, but he can feel that she’s smiling. _It’s alright_. He sinks his teeth in -- her blood spills across his tongue and he _melts_.

The taste goes straight to his head, like a particularly potent glass of wine -- reaching each corner of his mouth. It’s been so long. Reeling, OD wails out a feverish moan, gripping her waist as though she were his anchor to the earth. He sucks at her neck desperately, hoping to memorize the feeling of her blood sliding down his throat. He takes a gulp, lungs expanding with a deliberate breath. He can hardly believe it -- it’s even better than she smells, better than he could have imagined. Syrupy and saccharine, as if he’d plucked a burning star from the evening sky and boiled it into a broth. It’s glutinous, inconceivably sweet; not even faeries’ compares. He wonders whether the Shardbinders’ power gives her this taste, or if it’s just simply her.

Sucking harder at the wound, OD bucks his hips up into her, finally drawing a noise out of her -- whether it’s a cry of pleasure or pain, he can’t be sure. He only knows that he wants more, more. He holds her even closer against him, feeling the heavy drumming of her heart steadily spur his own to life as the blood in his veins starts to flow again, running a fresh course through his frame. A scream dies in his throat. The foreign feeling of a heartbeat battering against his rib cage startles him almost enough to make him stop drinking -- but he hasn’t had his fill yet, hasn’t quite quenched his thirst. And by the way she’s grinding her hips into his lap, she doesn’t want him to stop yet, either. 

“OD,” he hears her voice distantly, faint and feeble. There’s a rustle of lace and frills as he feels the heat of her core burning against his groin. Nails raking on his scalp, Miriam ruts her hips into him, her breaths catching in short gasps like she’s bubbling under water. Warm, sticky wetness is pooling through the fabric of her smallclothes, dampening his pants. The throbbing heartbeat he hears is his own, rushing blood to the swell in his lap that Miriam is shamelessly swiveling on top of. OD groans, losing himself to her intoxicating taste, sobering only when she so boldly mutters in his ear, “Fuck me, OD.” 

He chokes, sputtering up a mess of blood and saliva as he halts his indulgence. Without the grace of a warning, OD rears back his head, drawing his fangs from her flesh as she screeches in distress. She stares, mouth agape and pupils blown so wide he can hardly see the flecks of blue in her irises anymore. He coughs into the burgundy brocade of his sleeve and wipes his mouth. 

“Are you alright?” She has the gall to ask with a stream of blood still gushing down the length of her neck. The front of her dress is decidedly ruined, stained awfully and pulled down so far it’s a wonder it’s still even covering her at all. He doesn’t resist rolling his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” he feigns indifference, but she frowns, concerned (and probably disappointed). He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, better than. Fantastic.”

“Then why did you stop?” she implores him, panting -- genuinely befuddled. The pulse of her wetness is still thrumming against the tent in his trousers and he’s entranced by it. She’s still dripping, still flushed entirely scarlet. Just looking at her face makes him feel drunk. He swallows and his voice feels thick, rumbling from deep within his chest. 

“I’m full,” he lies, and she scoffs at him, half-laughing.

“Of shit! OD, I’m alright, you didn’t have to stop -- "

“Yes, I did,” he barks at her, glaring at her enough to make her face fall. Furrowing her brow, she leans in close, pushing the hair from his eyes in a gesture so tender it makes him wish he could vomit. 

“OD,” she starts, gently, “what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he lies again, unable to catch his breath. He clutches his chest in an effort to calm his heart, beating loud enough he’s certain she can hear. 

“Was it something I said?”

“No,” he says, and that's not a lie, not quite. It wasn’t what she’d said, it was _why_ she’d said it -- and the fact that he’d known all along. 

From the moment she’d stepped foot back in his atheneum, it should have been obvious. The thunderous sound of her blood pumping should have been enough. He’d heard it before she’d even pushed the door open. The signs were there all this time -- no human strides into a haunted repository in pursuit of knowledge at the midnight hour, returning almost every night. It wasn’t just the tomes she’d taken an interest in, anyone with eyes could see the way she’d allowed hers to linger. All the mundane questions had just been excuses -- to listen to his voice, to watch his lips catch on his fangs. Only a fool wouldn’t have noticed. He’d just been so content to lie to himself -- it had been easy, pretending he hadn’t realized. 

Pretending he does not also feel the same way, on the contrary, is oppressively difficult, and after the way she’d so brazenly voiced her appetence, he loathes himself for even making the attempt.

“Still don’t trust me?” she tries to guess the matter, pulling him from his thoughts. She’s not entirely wrong, but that’s to no fault of her own. 

“You’ve proven your worth twofold,” he tells her gently, finding that he means it only after the words fall from his mouth. “I just…” 

Miriam retreats from his lap to assume her perch on top of the commode, steadying her breathing. She does not ask again for him to elaborate, just watches his eyes fall shut as he drags a quivering hand over his face.

“I cannot, in good faith,” he starts to explain. His throat is already drying out. “...continue to luxuriate in your generosity...when you have no idea what you’re repaying me for.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He chews his inner cheek, inhaling through flared nostrils as she blinks her feathery lashes at him. Her eyes are glassy, a foggy haze beneath the thick fan of her lashes, and he cannot discern whether or not she’s putting up a front to make him open up -- either way, he must tell her the truth.

“I haven’t been completely... _honest_ regarding my reasons why we fought.” 

“Are you saying it _wasn’t_ all because of me stealing books?” 

“Not entirely, no,” OD struggles, shifting uncomfortably under her inquisitive stare. Miriam bends forward, closer, a hair’s breadth from his face. Her voice lifts apologetically.

“I don’t understand, what do you -- "

Tired of questions, (and of evading answering them), the librarian makes to stand, swiftly rising to his feet. He takes hold of her hands, golden eyes fixated on her glowing face. Fuchsia blooms in her cheeks as he presses a light kiss to her knuckles.

“Miriam,” he whispers her name, a rosary. The dulcet hum slips quietly past his lips, as if he were boxed inside a confessional. “You’ve stolen more from me than just books.” 

The light in her eyes flickers before going out completely. “OD, what are you -- "

He releases her hands in favor of seizing her throat, squeezing only enough for dramatic effect. Her pulse still jumps like a rabbit in her neck. She slides close enough to the edge of the bureau to angle her pelvis against his. OD grouses in her ear, feeling the burning wetness in her panties returning already. (She’d picked an awful time to play unaware.)

“Do you think I never noticed,” he hisses and she writhes under him -- not in an effort to escape, but in an attempt to wriggle closer. “Every late night hour, every lingering touch...and then for you to come to me with an offering of your blood?” 

“I told you, because nothing else would mean as much,” she strains to talk, gripping the lip of the commode. “It’s the only way to even the score -- ” 

“Score or none, no human makes a deal so dangerous without staunch faith in their chance of survival,” he spits back, poisonously, jaw tense and fangs dripping. “So tell me, Shardbinder, what is it that sealed yours? What has made you so confident that you were going to emerge from this scenario with your head still attached to your shoulders?”

“Because you’re in love with me,” is her candid reply, bare of any teasing or jest. 

OD feels his lungs empty of air as Miriam smiles, sincerely with her heart. The glaze in her bright eyes is full of adoration and yearning, completely earnest. A vision he’d thought he’d only ever read about. He can’t think of a time when anyone had given him such a look before. It’s almost painful to behold. It gnaws at the black pit sunk in his chest, the heart which he’d forgotten he still had until today. As if she’d been tying strings around it for the past however-many days and is just now pulling them taut. 

“You’re in love with me, OD, and this is the only way I can prove to you that I feel the same,” she’s brazen, clutching at his robes to beckon him even closer. “So please, accept my offering. Drink from me.” 

He leaves himself with no choice but to obey. If this is the way his Mistress wishes to prove her feelings, he must do as she commands. He will bend his head to make her glistening skin immaculate, anger and resentment and lust and ardor all bubbling in his blood to a boil as he falls almost drunk on her taste. Fingers wound in her hair again, OD mutters frantically to her between kisses and bites and strokes of his tongue, anxieties and worries spilling like overflow from a cauldron --

“You ran off with my most prized possessions, my most powerful tomes -- I thought I would never see your face again -- "

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes in a soft voice. “I was so late coming back for you -- but I had to take care of Dominique first -- "

“I know -- I know -- it doesn’t matter now,” he lifts his head to watch the movement of her eyes, to stare into the rings of azure around her blown pupils. “You came -- "

“I would never let this castle fall with you still trapped within its walls,” she chokes on bubbling tears, trying to hold herself back -- he swipes his thumbs under the darkened circles under her lashes. “Please, believe that -- "

“You came for me,” he says again, crushing his lips against hers. “You came -- ” 

Miriam shoves against him, sending him stumbling back into his chair -- seems she’d rather be on his lap again. Her thighs hook around his hips as the whole weight of her brays pleasantly against his chest and his legs. Miriam is so impossibly warm, the course of blood thrumming through her frame playing for him like a string quartet. OD feels every vibration of her pulse as she grinds into his groin again, slowly riding his stiffening cock through his pants. 

He sucks at her neck again, eyes rolling back as she cries out and grasps at his cloak, yanking on it. He drinks, he sucks, he kisses her -- tears himself away to kiss her mouth again, kiss her cheek and her jaw until she’s breathless. She says nothing, no words at all -- only the hypnotizing swivel of her hips that tells him she’s pleased, and yet it can’t be enough. 

“Miriam,” he grouses, willing her lashes to flutter open. “I am yours to command, my heart is yours -- "

His words seem to stir something within her. There’s a shift in the light, something that makes her eyes go dark as her rose-pink mouth curves into a smile. Indelicate fingers fumble to pull the lacing of her corset, her breasts almost bouncing with the pace of her rapid breathing -- OD is mesmerized, watching the fresh blood trickle down the rivets of her collarbone, further staining her mantua. With a soft thud, the corset is dropped to the floor behind her, leaving little to conceal her tits. OD’s hands seem to fly to her waist of their own accord -- he presses his fingers into all the indentations left by her constrictions. Miriam sighs as though liberated. 

“It is not only your heart that I want.”

The librarian leans back, brows knit together as she leans forward to kiss him slowly, teasingly. A seduction, enticing him enough to buck his hips up into her. He’d been so entranced with drinking her blood, with having her inside of him, he’d forgotten he could be inside her, too. 

A pull of a lever on the right side cranks the gears of the chair to recline, and with a slow movement, OD is laid backward, angled far enough to allow the Shardbinder to pull more at his clothes. He sheds his magnificent cloak, the glitter and crystal dust sprinkling the velvet chair as he opens his sweater-vest, untucks his shirt from his trousers. Miriam quickly unfastens his belt, doesn’t even bother pulling it from the loops before unbuttoning them enough to uncover his smallclothes. OD lifts his hips, lets her pull them down, his gaze never leaving her face.

Miriam seems to glow. Her chest swells so much he swears he can hear her lungs expanding with anticipated breath. Her blood is singing to him, a hymn of wanting as she stares at his cock. He wonders briefly if this is the first time she’s seen one -- certainly the first she’s seen of a monster’s. Her fascination is endearing, makes him desire her in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Blood is still leaking from the wounds at her neck -- her cunt is dripping onto his skin. OD feels he could crumble only from looking upon her. The roused beating of his heart is driving him mad. 

“Miriam,” he strains, and she is upon him instantaneously, diving at him to give him a bruising kiss. His nails almost cut through the silk of her dress. He bites her mouth, kissing her in a frenzied, desperate manner as she thrusts her cunt against his aching length, smearing her wetness on his skin. OD growls into her mouth, pulling her hair to jerk her away so that he may drink from her again. With another bite, Miriam whines, bucking into him as he sips greedily, moiling to listen to her heartbeat. She shifts on top of him, thighs seizing his hips as she tries to move in his grasp. 

“OD,” is all she says, and it’s enough direction that he understands -- he lifts her by the waist, enough to let her sink onto his cock. The vampire hisses, his length swollen and throbbing already as he enters her narrow walls, dazed by her moaning. Miriam collapses forward, her whole body convulsing as she loses herself in the sensation. OD grabs her face, kisses her, let her bite his lips as they stumble through a mismatched rhythm of thrusts for a while. She twitches on top of him, her muscles and inner walls clenching as it seems she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself -- he can’t admit that he does either. Lost in hazy lust, OD tries to hold her steady. 

“Fuck me, Miriam,” he begs of her, her white-hot pulse choking his cock. “Fuck me while I drink my fill of you.” 

Miriam grits her teeth as OD goes as still as he can manage beneath her, moving up and down on his cock in a quick pace she finds satisfying. She moans, crying out audaciously, her stunning face rosey and glistening with sweat. Her crown of horns chimes softly as she tosses her head back and OD lunges for her throat again, opening a new hole for himself to drink from. Her own hollow laughter interrupts her screams as she jerks forward and OD is thankful to be the one in submission, laying down under her and leaving her in control. He’s swimming in Miriam’s wetness, the slick, wet sounds of her fucking him echoing off the arched walls, punctuated by her incessant moaning. OD takes carefully measured swallows of her blood, pulsing into his mouth, stars exploding behind his vision with every hard snap of her hips. He can’t tell which thundering heartbeat belongs to whom, as though they’re becoming entwined -- in sync as they take from one another, she inside him and he inside her. She clutches his bare chest, digging her nails into his pecs, and his heart jumps so fast as if to meet her touch. Any harder and he thinks it could beat itself free of his rib cage to be in her clutches.

And that would be just as well, he think. It belongs to her -- his heart, his empty soul, his library -- everything. All that he has. 

Hers. 

“OD, I think I -- "

He almost can’t her whimpering over the harmony of their pounding blood. Her thighs are trembling violently, hands shaking as she fights to keep a grip on him. OD shoves into her, sipping one last agonizingly slow sip before stopping his feast. He looks hard into her eyes, glassy and cloudy -- tears are clinging to her thick lashes -- 

“Let go, Miriam,” he consoles her, brushing the hair from her brow. 

He reaches a hand under her dress, thumbing her clit as she starts to fall apart, twitching and moaning. She groans his name, clinging to him as she unravels before him, blood streaming from the holes in her neck. Miriam crashes into his face, kissing him roughly as she bucks through her undoing. OD feels her frantic heartbeat against his chest and on his cock, her pulse pounding in two places at once -- it’s enough to make him scream. He reaches his own horizon alongside her, clutching her for dear life. 

They stay that way, crushed against each other in the now near-broken chair for what feels like hours. The light of the sun has already begun to glare through the arching window to the east. 

Miriam breaks the silence. “I must ask one more thing of you, OD.” 

She lifts herself off of him only enough to look upon his expectant face. 

“Leave this place,” she says, gentle but commanding. “Take what you need and make for the village.”

“Miriam,” he says, quietly -- he cradles her head in his hand. “You're really going to destroy this castle?"

"I have a promise to keep," she says vaguely, but her smile is winsome. He doesn't ask her to explain -- nods his head obediently.

"As you wish." 

Miriam kisses him once more, fiercely impassioned, stealing his breath. Quickly, she gathers herself, blood-soaked and wrecked and wearing a blinding smile. She says nothing more, not a goodbye -- for this won't be it. He wraps the sparkling galaxy around his shoulders again, swathed in stardust -- he will take his pick of secret sciences and sacred texts and do what his Mistress has commanded.

**Author's Note:**

> my treat to myself after finally winning his bonus boss battle. cheers and thank you iga for the food


End file.
